Marked Prince - Michelle M. Pillow Page 0,13

time he’d flown through the sky with an unconscious woman clutched in his talons. There was no reason to feel this moment was special.

Jaxx let his dragon form take over his body before grabbing her by the shoulders and taking to the sky.

5

Time lost all meaning when the future converged on the present.

The second Fiora was pulled out of the Federation facility by her brother-by-marriage, the yelling had started. It was as if thousands of people desperately tried to tell her their stories all at once. Their timelines pressed in on her, choking her as if she gasped to breathe from under a mountain of bodies. Ghostlike images appeared all around her. She’d barely had time to process the information before Grier had forced her to jump off the side of a cliff. She’d screamed out of fear, out of the need to get the yelling to stop, out of frustration when she didn’t splatter against the ground.

But then Grier’s hand around her wrist had changed into that of a beast, and she was yanked away from the promise of reprieve into a tumultuous flight through a green sky. Her body dangled over images of explosions and fires, and she undulated in the cold air like a flag, legs twisting behind her. Just like with her visions, her body had no control over what happened.

Why wouldn’t they all just let the torment end?

Nothingness seemed like a nice alternative to the current images of explosions and the echoing screams of people dying that were now filling her thoughts.

For the brief second when they’d been falling, she felt relief that there was a ground that would stop everything. Blessed, permanent rest.

Silence.

Forever.

Fiora had the vague impression of touching down on firm earth before the vision of a naked man emerged from beside a watchtower. She didn’t recognize him or the markings on his chest but felt as if his energy pulled her. Her legs wobbled as she felt herself stumbling toward him. Pain exploded behind her eyes. There were too many timelines, too many deaths in the valley settlement. The man’s eyes were fire in the darkness. Death himself, perhaps, come to feast on the misery emanating from below. Panic had overwhelmed her senses, and she wanted the nothingness to take her.

But the dreams would only let the darkness win for so long. They started with a vengeance, trapping her in a weightless trance as she was forced to watch the end of a world. Nothing made sense. Explosions turned to desolate landscapes. Screams faded into hungry whimpers. Those who loved each other learned to hate as the world beyond chipped away all hope. The timelines were out of sequence, the pieces not fitting together. They came from too many voices, too many points of view.

People died. Spirits reversed in time to live. A hollow laugh echoed over a cry.

It was too much.

It needed to stop.

It would never stop.

Fiora wanted to tear out her eyes, but that wouldn’t help. She wanted to deafen her ears, but the cries would remain in her brain.

She felt her body suspended in the air as if she flew without wings. Nausea built, reminding her of what it felt like during a spaceship’s turbulent landing.

It never stopped.

Being a prisoner made to perform for the Federation was hardly a dream scenario. Still, at least in prison she’d been locked away from the tragedy of the outside world. She could hide under a blanket and beg the guards to leave if the visions became too loud.

Here, from the sky, she saw smoke rising from the scorched earth. But it wasn’t real. She wasn’t awake. She couldn’t fly. This wasn’t her future sequence she was trapped in. None of it made sense.

It never stopped.

Fiora felt herself being led into the side of a mountain. Sometimes the visions made little sense. People did not walk through stone. Or maybe this was the future of an elemental. Inside the mountain was a palace with polished red walls and floors.

Why wouldn’t it stop?

Just a small break, that was all she needed. A sharp pain shot through the back of her eye. This headache was going to be a bad one.

Murmured voices came from hidden alcoves as she shuffled through a hallway. At least now she was on her feet. Someone pulled her hand, leading her past stone pedestals. She kept her eyes down, using what little concentration she could muster to keep from throwing up on the clean floor.

“This way,” a gruff voice commanded,